


Becoming Just Like You

by wilbruh



Series: Us Against The World [4]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :(, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, During Pogtopia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Not Happy, Piglin Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Please Be careful, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, here we go boys, nevermind, no beta we die like wilbur, why the fuck is-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbruh/pseuds/wilbruh
Summary: “Old habits die hard, big man. Even six years later.” The nonchalance was killing him.Wilbur tugged his son into a hug. “I would never hurt you, spitfire. And if I do, for whatever fucking reason, you turn tail and get the hell away from me. No matter what. You understand?”Tommy nodded into his chest. Wilbur buried his face into Tommy’s curls and fought back the tears..Or, Wilbur Soot fucks up, and does some thinking.(READ TAGS FOR TW. Can't be read alone, part of a series.)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Us Against The World [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145831
Comments: 16
Kudos: 165





	Becoming Just Like You

**Author's Note:**

> im not sorry.
> 
> read tags for tw. 
> 
> all i will say is, more on sally the bitch (derogatory) later. we all fucking hate her.
> 
> sally the salmon? pog! we love her! sally the bitch? get the fuck outta here.

It had been a stupid arguement, in the end. Tommy had been loud and annoying and Wilbur just wanted him to shut up for two seconds so that he could  _ think.  _ So he snapped. Yelled at Tommy to shut up for once. 

Tommy, of course, yelled back. All he had wanted to do was go and see Tubbo.

Rationally, Wilbur knew that Tubbo wasn’t going to betray him, turn them over to Schlatt. Rationally, Wilbur knew that Tubbo was nothing more than a scared teenage boy, struggling to keep himself afloat in the grip of two mentally unstable men dragging him into their escalated petty squabble. Rationally, Wilbur knew that Tommy was the exact same.

So really, he should have just let Tommy go and see his best friend. Really, he should have just let the teenagers continue to be teenagers. They used to be wild and free and they should have stayed that way.

But despite all the rational and fairly logical thinking, Wilbur still caved in to the voices in his head. The one that told him Tommy would get hurt, that Tubbo would betray them. That Tommy would leave him just like his mother. The very same voices that have plagued him since he was so young, the ones he drowned out in as much weed and alcohol he could without raising suspicion to Tommy. (Not that that was working particularly well. Tommy has had to drag him to bed too many times at this point for him not to be concerned.)

Gods, he already lost one son to Schlatt, he couldn't lose another. (No matter that Schlatt was Tommy’s godfather. No matter that Schlatt swore to never harm a single hair on either of Wilbur’s sons. No matter that Schlatt exiled them both to keep them together. No matter, since Schlatt never told anyone what went through his damn mind.)

Despite Fundy being just thirteen, a mere  _ baby _ , Wilbur allowed him to make his own decisions. Fundy decided he was going to run for president? Wilbur tried to support him. Fundy decided to side with Schlatt? That fucking stung, hurt so much. But it was Fundy’s decision and at the time, despite his exile, he had trusted Schlatt. He always trusted Schlatt. They had grown close in those short eight months together, and Wilbur had, once upon a time, trusted the man to take care of Tommy had something gone wrong. Why not the same with Fundy?

Maybe Wilbur should have fought against Fundy more. Forced his son to listen, instead of giving him the freedom he had. Maybe Fundy would still be by his side, instead of off somewhere doing god knows what. Maybe he should have fought against Fundy leaving him.

_ Leaving him just like his mother had, once.  _

Wilbur knew that there was still trust for Schlatt somewhere in the back of his mind. This man had given his wife away at their wedding, who promised to always be there for Wilbur, who helped him when they were at their lowest, Clementine too pregnant to work and Wilbur barely affording their home. He knew that Schlatt wouldn’t let anything happen to the two teenagers in his care.

But that sixteen fucking years ago, and Sclatt was fucking petty enough to kick him out of the country he built (to keep his sons safe no less), so who the fuck knows at this point. 

“I genuinely do not understand why the fuck I can’t go see him.” Tommy yelled. He looked as tired as Wilbur felt.

“Because I fucking said so, Tommy! That’s why!”

“You aren’t my fucking dad, you can't tell me what to do.”  _ Damn that stung.  _ But, Wilbur couldn’t argue with that, not really. Tommy, as far as he knew, was telling the truth.

At that, Wilbur threw up his arms. He had been gesturing wildly throughout the entire conversation, so it was a normal action. Nothing to be worried about.

Tommy flinched.

_ Tommy flinched. _

The teenager flinched and brought his arms up to protect his face. As though Wilbur would  _ hurt  _ him. 

“Toms?”

“I’m sorry.” Tommy’s voice was soft, too soft. Wilbur gently placed his hands on his son’s arms. Tommy was tense.

“Tommy.” No response. 

“Thomas Theseus Soot.” Tommy opened his eyes and looked at Wilbur. The gears in his head were turning. That was never a good sign.

“Don't fucking tell me that you guys made my middle name fucking Theseus.” Tommy wrinkled his nose. His arms lowered from his face but he was no less tense. “Did you really give me your surname too?”

Wilbur snorted. “I raised you, spitfire. I can call you whatever the fuck I want.” Tommy stuck out his tongue. WIlbur was surprised he had called Tommy what he did. Spitfire was an old nickname. 

It wasn’t even originally  _ Tommy’s.  _

“Did you really think that I was going to hit you? Wilbur asked gently, his heart breaking as Tommy seemed to hesitate. 

“Old habits die hard, big man. Even six years later.” The nonchalance was killing him. 

Wilbur tugged his son into a hug. “I would  _ never  _ hurt you, spitfire. And if I do, for whatever fucking reason, you turn tail and get the hell away from me. No matter what. You understand?”

Tommy nodded into his chest. Wilbur buried his face into Tommy’s curls and fought back the tears.

Wilbur was glad he told Tommy to get the fuck away from him if anything happened. 

There were “accidents” happening more and more, Wilbur noticed. Tommy always seemed to flinch at sudden movement lately, especially when Wilbur was mad. Almost as though it was a reflex. 

He didn’t flinch as hard as he did the first time, but he was nervous around Wilbur lately. Whenever Wilbur was mad, Tommy always found an excuse to leave or stay as far away from him as possible. The more Wilbur seemed to yell, these days, the more Tommy avoided him.

Then the fucking plate. That motherfucking plate.

They had been arguing again. Honestly, Wilbur didn’t know what the fuck Tommy wanted from him. He didn’t know what the fuck they had been arguing about in the first place. 

He supposed, like the first time he noticed this pattern of behavior in Tommy, that it didn’t even matter in the end. 

Because in the end, he had nearly hurt Tommy. That was what mattered.

He wasn’t thinking clearly, and in a fit of rage and red tunnel vision, Wilbur picked up the nearest object off the counter and hurled it in Tommy’s direction. The plate had missed him, thank fuck, since Tommy’s reflexes were sharp (read: war hardened). He ducked away in time. 

They stared at each other for what felt like ages, Tommy’s eyes wide and filled with fear and Wilbur’s heavy breathing filling the silence.

Then, just like he promised, Tommy broke the stand off by fleeing the room.

Wilbur locked himself in his room for days. He ignored meals, he ignored Techno calling his name.

He just sat in the dark and exhausted his stash of alcohol. He let the realisation that he was becoming just like  _ her  _ sink in. 

Fuck. He had almost hurt Tommy.

_ She was screaming at him again. He wasn’t even sure what the fuck it was he did this time. Tommy had thankfully gotten the hint and dragged his little sister out with the promise of getting ice cream from the stand in the park.  _

_ “Are you even listening to me?” She grabbed his wrist, sinking her fingers into his flesh. Her grip was tight, sure to leave bruises. “You useless  _ pig!  _ Are you deaf?” _

_ He shook his head. She clearly didn’t like the answer, because she scowled at him. She grabbed the vase that Tommy had made in class (it was very very deformed but Tommy had insisted it was a vase, so a vase it was) and shook it in his face. _

_ Then she chucked it at the wall. _

_ “Wilbur Soot, look what you made me do. Now Tommy is going to be sad.” She gently cupped his face with her hands. He practically leaned into her touch. Her smile was victorious. She may have been small but it was easy, since they were on the ground and she leaning at eye-level with him- _

_ Wait, how did they get here? Sally was basically in his lap now. _

_ “I’m sorry.” He mumbled. His ears were ringing with the shattering of glass and his wrist ached. He was so tired. _

_ “You should be.” She sighed. “I’ll clean up your mess. You go freshen up dear, you look like shit.” She climbed out of his lap. “How about I make your favourite for dinner?” He nodded and she smiled again, though softer this time. “I’m sorry, Wilbur. I’ll make it up to you, okay baby?” _

He needed a fucking drink.

At the time, the “I’m sorry” seemed like enough. They always did. She loved him, really she did. She must have. Who cares about a few dents in the walls or arguments that would wake the neighbors in the dead of night?

She always bandaged his wounds, and kissed him sweetly, no matter if she was the cause or not. She always held him when they slept, or let him hold her. There was no way she could have been that bad, right?

Looking back, Wilbur decided as he downed his second bottle of vodka that night (he was running low, he needed to convince Big Q to go get him more), Sally had been a fucking bitch. She was not a good person, despite all the good memories he had of her. She left him with bruises and tears. She left Tommy scared of raised voices and fast movements. She left Fundy scared and confused. She just fucking  _ left  _ like a coward.

Looking back, the bad memories seemed to outweigh the bad. 

And now, Wilbur had hurt Tommy. 

He was becoming just like her. And that was fucking terrifying.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao hope you enjoyed.
> 
> as always, the doc title for this was: "you done fucked up mr scoot"
> 
> \- will


End file.
